King Harry and the Free Company: Book Two

[Rictus]

My second (nad hopefully) last reference to League Of Gentlemen...

The thieves gave up. Simple as that. No fight, no running battle, they just keeled over and gave in. Which was fine by him.

Duncun and Lochlan were efficently bagging and tagging their new prisoners, while Cockney and Omar sauntered in. One of the thieves was struggling, but soon passed into unconsciousness after Hamish headbutted him.Ash filed silently into the space with them and nodded almost imperceptively at them.

Only one of the thieves escaped,

"Don't worry Tubbs" Edward said, brandishing his unused crossbow, "he won't get far.[] Good job everyone, Cockney and I will take this bunch to the castle. Duncan, gather some of your men to watch this building. Lochlan you keep an eye on the place til he gets back."

"Who's Tubbs?"

 

[Derek Pullem]

Originally posted by driftwood
Evening of January 24th


I don't know much about fortifications, but I'm told that the New Style (i.e., Italian Style) with bastions and stuff didn't emerge until the 1520s. However, if the Free Company can have tea, I don't see why it can't be an innovator in fortresses.

driftwood

Quite right - although the theory was well developed by early 1500's
I'm giving Johan and Otto a bit of head start due to their Univeristy educations and to give the Free Company an edge. I doubt if the "bastions" will be very complicated - certainly they will be more built from models than mathematic creations of perfection.

Derek

 

[unmerged(228)]

25th Januari Morning.

Johan was glad Pohlman broke up the last night’s heated argument. Today was a good day to start anew. The foundations Johan and Otto measured out yesterday where really old in design. The good news was that these foundations would hold a heavily designed structure, the bad news was that if the building needed to incorporate components such as elevators, rotating platforms, a foundry and engineering equipment, the foundations would have to be done all over, because they couldn’t handle such unique strain. Maybe the foundatios could be improvised upon while the rest of the building remained. It involved a risk his mentors at the Collegue would probably have chatised him for, but Johan would have to work with the means at hand, with reality, instead of books. Johan had also prepared several scetches of how the building should look like. The scetches depicted a building with a stout and massive appearance, but nowhere nearly as high as the castle. It consisted of three levels, the lowest being the tallest, about 12 feet, so there would be much room in any dimension for equipment. The second level measured only 7 feet, and was a floor like one could find in a common multi-level building. This floor could be used for anything, residence, storage, deployment of cannons, and multiple elevators installed ensured it’s functionality. The third floor was entirely open to the elements of wind and rain, apart from a broad tower just in the middle. The floor was accesible by an elevator too, and in Johan’s opinion was the best location for several small calibre cannon. However, with yesterday’s discussion in mind, this was an option best to be left open. The broad tower in the middle was an open book at this stage. Perhaps, it could be made into a rotating tower, housing one of Pohlman’s heaviest and favourite cannon, but that would be no minor engineering feat. More study was in order.
Speaking of study, the books Guillaume promised proved to be interesting at a glance. Johan was already quite familiar with the basics, but the books with the Arab contents seemed to be very ambitious. They where going to take more of Johan’s already little free time.

Today wouldn’t be a good day to do any training. The skies promised rain or snow, or whatever. Winter never seemed to finish it’s conquest in these lands with a coat of heavy snow. Instead, there was whatever fell from the skies. And there was cold, the nasty combination of cold, wind and water Johan knew so well from Milan. The only thing that really needed to be done today was finishing another of the crossbows. Once that one was finished, there would be seven of those in total. When the foundry is completed, the cost for one such a crossbow could be halved, and with the proper facilities in place, Johan could perhaps finish 3 crossbows per day. Later. This morning, Johan would catch up on his reading..

 

[unmerged(4007)]

January 24, after dinner

The duck was succulent, the wine satisfactory, and the rest of the meal had not detracted from the taste of the main course. As Captain, Countess, Sean and Christina ate and chatted, the Countess related her plans for the hall.

"A dance, eh?" Sean said. "Interestin'."

"What, you dance too?" Captain asked with surprise.

"Na' well. I'm Irish, ye know. More like stomp an' clap fer me." He said with a hearty laugh. "Too ba' they donna like the pipes in France. They're na cultured enou'." He said with a smirk that got his shoulder pummeled by Christina. The Countess looked at the "beating" with approval.

"Well Sean, now that you've insulted the ladies," the Captain said with humor, "I suppose we should let them prove to us how cultured they are, while we take a look atsome of the artwork, what do you say." The two stood up to look around the room, while the ladies continued with their planning.

"I have to ask you, when do you plan to put aside this silliness with Guillaume?" He asked, an authorial tone underneath the softly spoken words.

"Fer my par' it IS done. I'm na tryin to compete. I've sen' 'im more than one offer of peace. He's na' taken any o' them so far." Telling him of the offer to take part in the maneuvers.

"I see, do you still intend to conduct maneuvers on the 26th?" Sean nodded. "Good, I'll see that he takes the request to appear seriously. I agree that getting the two of you to take some Company matters together is the best way to let everyone know this is done."

"Aye, I agree, an than' ye. Now I hav' somethin' to ask ye abou', but I wasna goin' to say it among the ladies."

"What is it?" He asked while sitting on the stage.

"I've bin doin' some thinkin', an' I thin' there's only one way to rid ye of the unwanted monetary ornament that ye have?"

"To kill the Doge first, obviously, but how..." Sean merely looked back at him silently... "an assassin of our own? Sean, I thought you were believing, isn't this murder?"

"Nay, tis justice. We canna git anyone to take the side of a mercenary agin' a ruler. All we cin do is deal him the death he deserves."

"And you know of someone competent enough to do this?"

"Lessay I know a couple people who do, one who used to be in tha' line of work, I've thou' abou' makin' some inquiries, but I wanted to talk to ye abou' it first...."

 

[unmerged(6528)]

Late Evening, January 24th, St. Malo

Lochlan let out a satisfied sigh. He had his feet up, and was facing the roaring fire. He was half heartedly listening to Alberic and Bloomfield arguing over the merits of the pipes versus the rebac, and it looked like as usual, there were no winners.

He looked up as Scherer sat down next to him, he had procured a half eaten haunch of what looked like mutton, and he was having a late snack.

"Diego." Lochlan said, turning his head and looking at hid friend. "You might as well come over here, they'll be arguing for a little while."

"I suppose your right." Diego said, flashing Lochlan a grin. Unfortunately, the two avid musicians had heard him, so they deliberately moved closer to the fire and kept arguing even louder this time.

Lochlan sighed, then smiled. It was good they had these nights, it helped them remember who they were.

"Oh, got a question for you guys." Lochlan said, remembering something.

Bloomfield and Alberic stopped arguing. And Alberic spoke. "Yeah?"

"I was thinking, we ought to bring in Lorenzo, Guillaume, or maybe even a few of the marauders next we celebrate. I think we might be excluding them unintentionally." Lochlan spoke slowly. "It would be good if they could get to know us, that will help next time we have to march out."

"You migh have a point" Bloomfield said. "At least their not loody awful rebac players."

Alberic threw his hands up in the air, and the argument continued.
Lochlan, Diego, and Scherer just laughed at their friends.

 

[driftwood]

Wee hours of the night of the 24th, morning of the 25th

Once Guillaume realized that he would win a majority of the games with Lorenzo, he gradually eased off. He had refilled his wine glass often enough that Lorenzo would probably think he was getting drunk, and so would not be offended. Long experience of drinking wine had taught him to drink less than he seemed to, and to hold what he *did* drink well.

Over the course of the night, many other Free Company rankers wandered in, and quite a few of them played a some hands with Guillaume and Lorenzo. Guillaume and Lorenzo hadn't been gambling, but soon enough a large crowd had gathered around them to bet on the outcomes. Guillaume did his best to make sure the loudtalkers lost and the poor ones won.

After that, the crowd slowly dispersed. Later in the night, Dr. Razkov came in, looking sleepy. Guillaume waved him over.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?"

The Russian scowled and grunted in agreement. "Yes, but there's always alot of work in setting up a new field hospital. In some ways, it's even worse when the hospital's not in a field, because then you can't justify doing a sloppy job with the knowledge that you'll be leaving in a day."

Finding they had no vodka, he was forced to settle for whiskey. Half the tension left his body after a few solid drinks.

"I was finally finishing up for the night, when a whole bunch of officers and sergeants stopped by with some prisoners. They caught them up to something or other on the streets and there was a scuffle. No real injuries, except one of the prisoners had a bump on his head."

Guillaume nodded. So that's where the others were. He had been surprised not to see them in their friend de Crecy's tavern.

Lorenzo was also nodding. "Tomorrow, some of my men and I are supposed to patrol the town."

"I don't think I have patrol duty anytime soon," Guillaume said. True, he had men out every night, but that was in an unofficial capacity. "Tomorrow, or whenever the weather clears, I'll be doing joint maneuvers with Lt. O'Glaigh's regiment and some of the others. Should be a nice break from routine, and maybe my men will actually decide to learn something." There were some mock-offended shouts from off to his side.

Lorenzo hadn't really been paying attention. He went on, "Such a strange idea - being given free reign in a city and using it to increase the security of the townsfolk. Captain is truly a man ahead of his time."

They all drank to that.

[OOC: Guillaume has been assuming that he'd participate in the maneuvers, whenever they occur, even if he secretly thinks they're a waste of time. So no need to accuse him of rebuffing friendly gestures!

And I figured that Guillaume and Lorenzo would be recreating while the others were on patrol - I'm not sure if people are making camp in town, in tents, or in the castle, but anyone is welcome to crash the card game. ]

driftwood

 

[Cockney]

The Moors and Edward organised the prisoners into a line flanked by the armed men, Abdul bringing up the rear with his polearm uncomfortably close to the thief at the back, they began to march off towards to the castle

Omar was still looking round the building "You know some of this stuff could be valuable" He said to Hamish

"OMAR!" Shouted Edward, Omar scurried off.

They were walking fairly briskly towards the castle Edward turned to Cockney "So how do you think we should deal with this lot then sergeant

"Well I 'ear hangin' 'elps to cut crime, stops repeat offenders dun it" Replied Cockney "'Course we might wanna put 'em in the stocks first, let the townspeople pay their respects like"

Edward smiled,the prisoners were looking like they would wet themselves, they'll hate us even more when they find out what we've really got planned for them he thought to himself.

 

[Lord Durham]

January 25, 1420 - St.Malo: Dawn


A lone cart rumbled slowly over the fresh layer of snow that had fallen in the early morning hour. It meandered slowly, the single donkey near death from exhaustion. The occupant was a boy, not more than sixteen. He sat huddled in the cart, one arm strapped to his chest, while the other loosely held the slack reins.

The cart had belonged to a farmer, though the poor soul would never need it again. It was just another piece of madness the Irish lad had been forced to endure over the past week.

He had been left for dead, or so he thought. But then the all too familiar footfall of the madman returned. He was dragged to his feet, and his damaged arm thrust into a blazing fire. He passed out.

When he awoke, he was in another home, lying in the corner. When he heard the screams he kept his eyes closed and prayed for unconsciousness. It came.

The boy was awakened with a facefull of water. The madmen leaned before him, his eyes blazing with insanity, face flecked in blood. He held up a cup. "Drink this. You'll need your strength. I have a very important task for you. Very important. Consider yourself lucky, boy. The angel of death grants you life."

He was bundled into the cart and pointed in the direction of St. Malo. He was given instructions, and sent on his way.

* * *

"Hey, what's this?" The Company guard asked. He nudged the man beside him. "Bouchard! Look alive. See how the cart wanders? I'm not sure if the driver's awake."

The portcullis had just been raised, so the morning traffic was very light.

Bouchard scanned about, and saw nothing out of the ordinary. "I'll go have a look."

Fournier waited as the other guard approached the suddenly stationary wagon. He watched the guard prod the driver, then heard him call back. "Fetch help! The lad's been injured!"

* * *

Just inside the entrance was a gatehouse, and the lad had been placed on a cot. The cart was sitting by the entrance.

Sergeant Lorenzo di Spadascimmia, officer of the watch for the day, was the first to arrive at the request of Bouchard. "What is it?"

"This boy, Sergeant. He's near death."

"So? This weather will do it to any of us! He shouldn't be out during the night."

"It's not that, Sergeant. Come inside and have a look at him."

Lorenzo followed the visibly shaken guard into the warm structure and inspected the barely conscious man. He looked at the arm, and the bandaged stump where the hand should have been. "Good God! That's fresh. Tell me lad, who did this to you?"

Bouchard and Forunier exchanged looks. "We already asked, Sergeant."

Lorenzo stood up, anger in his eyes. "And?"

Fournier jerked his head at the boy. "He did it himself."

The sergeant staggered back, until he landed heavily in a chair. "Himself?" The word was barely a croak. "We... I... must get Lieutenant Forster... or Captain..."

Bouchard said, "I have sent for the Doctor. However, there's something else."

"What?"

"A pacakge. The boy mumbled something about a package. It was to be delivered to someone."

Lorenzo stood up and went over to the boy. He shook him awake. "This package, lad. Who's it for?"

* * *

The officers had been awakened by news of the strange happening at the gatehouse. Captain rushed out the castle and made the trek across the snow-covered cobblestone road, joined by other officers. They barely acknowledged each other.

Captain burst into the gatehouse, then asked the guards and Lorenzo to repeat the story, all the time keeping an eye on the boy. A moment later Ivan edged his way in, quickly took in the scene, then went to work.

"Where is this package?"

"Here, sir." Fournier said, pointing to a sizeable box on a table. "I retreived it from the cart."

Captain eyed the package, then said, "Good work. Out now, and send in the Lieutenants."

After the room was jammed with the main officers of the Company, Captain produced a knife and cut the rope holding the box together. At that moment he saw a note. He grabbed it and handed it to de Bloomfielde. "What's it say?"

de Bloomfielde opened it and scanned the words. "It doesn't say much. Just, "To Scherer, With Love."

Captain grunted and looked at Scherer. He cut the last rope, and the box opened, spilling it's grisly present. There wasn't a sound in the room as all eyes turned to a pasty white Lieutenant. Instinctively, Seraphim's arm went out to hold Lieutenant Scherer.

Laying on the ground, staring at them with baleful eyesockets, was the head of Piet.


END OF CHAPTER SEVEN

 

[Lord Durham]

CHAPTER EIGHT - ON EDGE


OOC: For an experiment I thought I would start the chapter with reactions from the Lieutenants, bearing in mind that Sharur should have the chance to react in his own fashion. I'd also be curious to see how the news spreads through the ranks (and not by ESP, please )

 

[unmerged(228)]

Farnese took the opportunity the silence gave him. Usually the quiet one, everybody was surprised to hear him. “Something has to be done about this, something drastic.” A sinister undertone apearant in the last words. “I agree. But ye ken go marchin’ down to Italy, It ‘as to be more subtl’.” Sean wanted to continue, but Farnese was quicker: “I know how you play Sean, but it won’t do this time. Intrigue, counter-intrigue, murder, counter murder. It doesn’t stop. If you kill someone because you have political motive in mind, some other noble takes his place. If we stay, someone will continue rattling the cage, scaring the Company untill everybody goes insane and leaves.” Farnese turned to Captain: “I knew of you Captain. That’s why I joined the Free Company. But I do not know much about you, nor your past. You are the Company, and your past is the Companies past. Whatever happened in Italy, has to be undone, not patched. The Company looks after it’s own.”

“What do you mean, what do you propose, Farnese.” Bloomfielde asked.

“The King of England hired 2.200 men to be stationed in St Malo, and he will have them, most of them. Captain is the Company, so Captain should go back to Italy, and deal with the matter, finish it.” “Captain, I suggest you take only those that would follow you to Hell and back, because that might well be where you go, if you go, sir.”

 

[unmerged(4007)]

Lieutenant O' Glaigh made the sign of the Cross and saw the look on de Bloomfielde's face, a look of surpassing rage. He struggled to mask his own emotions, which ran more to grief and pain.

"Assassin, yer life will be a long time ending. But that doesn't mean you are long for this earth." He spoke softly, lower than any ears but his own could hear. With that, he went up, and gently kissed Piet's head.

"Ye will be avenged, me friend." He said over Piet's head.

With that, Sean pulled his hood over his face, and exited the room without another sound.

 

[unmerged(6528)]

January 25th, Early Morning, St. Malo

Lochlan grimaced, his hangover wasn't awful, but is was enough to make life unpleasant. He looked out the narrow window in the small room he had apropriated for himself. The city was white, or at least covered in a blanket of snow. The sun was dim, covered by hazy clouds, and there was a chill wind. Lochlan shivered, but that was natural for january. He sighed, and finished pulling on his clothes. His knives aleady in their apropriate places, he picked up his sword belt in one hand as he closed the door to his room.

He walked noiselessly down the hall, senses straining. But that too was normal for Lochlan. He made his way down to the kitchen, and grabbed a half loaf of bread. He made his way out of the castle, and into St. Malo. The city itself was as quiet as it had looked from his window, Lochlan shrugged, he needed to get out into the woods for awhile.

As he reached the Gatehouse, he tossed a wave to one of the sentries, who waved back...a bit hesitantly. Lochlan shrugged again, he decided he didn't care.

"Tell Lorenzo that I went out, and if anyone comes looking that ill be back in a few hours."

The Guard nodded, but didn't say anything. And Lochlan took his bow in his hand as he passed through the gate.

 

[Forster]

Forster looked at the Captain. We've got to kill the bastard, make an example of him so no one will ever want to cross us again.
Did the boy say what village he hails from? If we can find out, I'll get a squadron out to it right away to see if we can catch that damn assassin still there.

 

[Blademonkey]

Lorenzo looked at the head on the table. He looked from Scherer to the Captain, back at the head. He sat back in his chair. Farnese was talking about going to Italy, Forster was talking about mounting a raid.

All he could see in the dead man's ruined face was the captain and the life he lost in Milan.

The Florentine was too far away, but this man, this beast that had done this was closer. He had a new Captain and a new family, this was wrong.

"Captain", he spoke, "this man will be long gone from where he was, but we should send someone to investigate. Someone subtle. My guess is he is watching us now, watching to see how we react. He fights this like a battle and we must not react to his moves, but make those of our own. We must fight this battle on our terms."

 

[Sharur]

After the room was jammed with the main officers of the Company, Captain produced a knife and cut the rope holding the box together. At that moment he saw a note. He grabbed it and handed it to de Bloomfielde. "What's it say?"

de Bloomfielde opened it and scanned the words. "It doesn't say much. Just, "To Scherer, With Love."

Captain grunted and looked at Scherer. He cut the last rope, and the box opened, spilling it's grisly present. There wasn't a sound in the room as all eyes turned to a pasty white Lieutenant. Instinctively, Seraphim's arm went out to hold Lieutenant Scherer.

Laying on the ground, staring at them with baleful eyesockets, was the head of Piet.

Scherer was in shock, initially. It took awhile for him to gather his emotions, but by the time Farnese and O'Glaigh had spoken, a deep-seated pain, both sadness and anger, that had never quite gone after Piet's death welled up and took hold of him. Choking back tears, Freidrich heard Forster's voice, but couldn't tell what he was saying. The anger burning inside of him, white-hot, had almost reached a breaking point.

"We must fight this battle on our terms..." Scherer could tell Lorenzo had finished, but he hadn't heard the words. Trembling with rage, he snapped.

"I'll kill the filthy bastard with my own hands!" he screamed, drawing a knife. Seraphim and de Bloomfielde, standing near him, jumped back in a alarm as he slammed it into the table. "How DARE he!" Scherer choked through the tears running down his reddened face. "I'll get him, damn him, I'll get him! Damn him..."

Dropping to one knee, fists clenched, Scherer closed his eyes and took three deep breaths. Then, slowly, he rose to his feet and wiped his face roughly with a sleeve. With his mouth set in a hard, thin line, and his fists clenched but still trembling slightly, he said, emotionless, "I'm sorry, Captain, I overreacted. I think it's time we went hunting."

 

[driftwood]

“The King of England hired 2.200 men to be stationed in St Malo, and he will have them, most of them. Captain is the Company, so Captain should go back to Italy, and deal with the matter, finish it.” “Captain, I suggest you take only those that would follow you to Hell and back, because that might well be where you go, if you go, sir.”

Guillaume rubbed his thumb along his jaw. The grisely corpse-head did not startle him - what surprised him was that Piet's empty, rotted-out eyesockets had been tinted blue. He had never known the assassin to advertise himself in advance like this, let alone repeatedly announce himself to his next quarry. Something had obviously changed for the worse in Blu Morte's mind. Then he realized what Farnese had said.

"Going to Italy will not end the matter with Blu Morte; ending the matter with Blu Morte will not settle matters in Italy." Guillaume had spoken softly, but realized he had everyone's attention, at least for the moment.

Keeping his tone carefully neutral, he continued, "Going to Italy is a reasonable decision but ... everyone should consider the effects of taking revenge on the man responsible there. We are in the service of the King of England, and he has no quarrel with our Italian adversary. Doing what needs to be done in Italy may also have consequences that will haunt all 2200 men of the Free Company for the rest of their lives."

Suddenly Scherer came out of his daze. "I'll kill the filthy bastard with my own hands!" he screamed, drawing a knife. Seraphim and de Bloomfielde, standing near him, jumped back in a alarm as he slammed it into the table. "How DARE he!" Scherer choked through the tears running down his reddened face. "I'll get him, damn him, I'll get him! Damn him..."

Guillaume shook his head. He hoped Scherer and the others would heed Lorenzo's wise advice about not charging right into Blu Morte's hands. Leaving the others to comfort Scherer, he instead went to join Ivan and see what he could learn from the injured youth.

On his way out, he instructed the guards outside the chamber, plus some other stray soldiers, to keep any bystanders out of eye and earshot, and not to say a word themselves. Captain could determine where and when the news spread to the rest of the Company.

[OOC: is it safe to say that most of the officers, at least, know that the Doge is behind everything?]

driftwood

 

[Misha]

Dropping to one knee, fists clenched, Scherer closed his eyes and took three deep breaths. Then, slowly, he rose to his feet and wiped his face roughly with a sleeve. With his mouth set in a hard, thin line, and his fists clenched but still trembling slightly, he said, emotionless, "I'm sorry, Captain, I overreacted. I think it's time we went hunting."

Sir Greystoke looked into Lieutenant Scherer eyes. All he was there was death. The tall knight shuddered & crossed himself. Silently, he said a prayer for Scherer, and then one for Lieutenant Piet, whose blue-tinted eyesockets seemed to stare soullessly into the dark beyond.

Greystoke had grieved for the loss of Piet before, back when he had first heard the news. The knight had thought that he was over it. Being a soldier meant being able to move past the loss of a boon companion with what was to Greystoke almost disturbing ease. But there was nothing easy about this. Paul knew that he would hold this image of Piet's death's head in his mind for a very long time - maybe even to his grave.

Sir Greystoke took a deep breath, & then turned to face Captain. Enough grieving for the dead - now it was time to protect the living. Captain would need his help. The knight stood ready to give it.

 

[unmerged(7095)]

Don Diego arrived late to the scene along with Father Wilhelm. A small crowd had gathered outside the gatehouse, but the only thing that the people outside could tell was that something serious had happened.

One of the guards tried to say something as he pushed by with the priest in tow, but Don Diego wasn't in the mood to listen to someone who didn't know what was going on.

As the two entered the gatehouse, Fanese was saying something about an elite group going to Italy and Scherer's package was being opened.

"Oh my!" said Father Wilhelm crossing himself at the gruesome display as Scherer went into a rage. He carefully and gently rewrapped the head in the packaging and said, "I will see to it that the remains are given the respect due them. This man's body is buried in Orleans, correct? I will ask the Bishop to have the body sent for so that it can be reburried here where this cannot happen again."

Guillaume had finished his response to Farnese and Don Diego answered in agreement, "I concur. The King would not be pleased and at this point it would leave us more exposed to Blu Morte. The assassin is obviously no longer in Italy. Confronting his employer does not help us now. That must wait until the assasin himself is dealt with."

He had not known Piet well, but knew he was a good man and certainly did not deserve this. He put a comforting hand on Scherer's shoulder and then followed Guillaume out of the gatehouse and took control of the guards outside to make sure the grievers would not be disturbed by anyone without legitimate business there.

****

OOC - Don Diego will let any of the Sergeants, Knights, and Lieutenants not already there through unless Captain says otherwise. Others, including the women, will be kept outside until Captain summons them in. Since the head is gone there probably isn't any reason to keep the women out once every body has calmed down, but things were still tense when Diego left.

 

[Rictus]

Edward leapt back as Scherer slammed the knife into the table and then sank to his knees, sobbing quietly.

Edward glanced around the room, meeting and holding the gaze of each men present for a moment before passing on. He fingered the blade at his side, it was the short-bladed weapon that had nearly killed him in Orleans. He gripped the handle while he looked soberly at Captain.

Silence filled the room, except for the quivering in the knife on the table and Scherers attempts to muffle himself.

"Lets go hunting."

Immediately, all the officers, in one way or another proposed to hunt down Blu Morte in their own way. Forster would take a squadron of horse and search for him, Cetla would simply raze the countryside in pursuit, Sean would flood the country with expert scouts and assassins of his own, Gulliaume would exploit his vast network of contacts to bring him down.

Captain, alone, was not speaking, he had his head bowed and his hands folded in front of him. The sightless eyes of Piet stared out into the room - nobody was going to met that undead gaze. Eventually, Edward and Edmond helped Scherer to his feet, who wobbled before catching his balance.

Edward felt powerless. An army could be crushed on the field of battle and obeyed some basic rules of war. Assassins operated where, when and upon who they wanted. Guards provided only so much protection and were prone to human failings, a wall of steel and muscle could be overcome by guile and subterfuge. Viligence would falter. Edward, for all it was worth, disagreed with going to Italy and, for want of a better word, disposing the Doge. Undoubtedly, it would end the price on their heads, but Blu Morte did not seem like he would give up so easily.

Edward slid his hand over the handle and grasped it.

He felt like spitting. It was disgusting, digging up the body and defiling it in such an animalistic ritual way. It was so unchristian, it was almost something...well, it beyond any words Edward had. Still voices urged new plans or proposed or denied them. Captain had still yet to speak more than a dozen words.

Whatever.

Edward drew his sword, letting it rasp against the scabbard. Voices petered out. He proffered the sword to Captain, handle first.

"Captain, whatever action you should choose, you have my blade and my life to command."

 

[Derek Pullem]

Pohlman looked around the table. The anger in the room was palpable but a rash decision now could lead to disaster.

"Captain, grisly though it is, that is just a calling card from the fiend. He wants, no expects a reaction. If we rush out and strike wildly, he will not only take his target but amuse himself with the rest of us. We can judge the level of his humour from the poor lad in the cart.

No, what we need is careful planning and some way of taking the initiative" Frederick nodded to Lorenzo, acknowledging his wise words. "We have many men here who have worked some time in the shadows at the edge of the law. Properly led and with all the information available to them...." He glared at Guillaume and looked vainly for Sean "..we can send this evil man back to Hell whence he came."

"We must also remember that our duty is to every one of the 2,000 men in the Free Company. Placing the whole Company at risk by persuing a vendetta is not sensible"

The mutterings from around the room told Frederick that he was in a minority........